no one would miss me
by I'm-Just-Lacri
Summary: ((Contains suicidal elements, read at your own risk.)) A depressed and sleep deprived Rigby struggles against his insomnia and current mental state as Mordecai desperately tries to help him. But, the raccoon would rather deal with his depression and sleep issues himself. But that all changes when razor blades are thrown into a dangerous and uneasy mind. (Cover image by me.)
1. Chapter 1

no one would miss me . . .

(a Regular Show fanfiction.)

It was always night when he had these thoughts. Staring at the ceiling, laying on his small trampoline, thinking people would be better off without him. His bushy tail would always end up in his hands, as he smoothed it out. He would listen to the cricket chirping outside the windows and the small, familiar sound of Mordecai breathing as he slept. He kept smoothing his tail, remembering that he had a few razor blades in a cabinet, hidden underneath his clothes. He had only used them twice; once after Mordecai and him got into an argument, the second time after doubting himself. He looked at the cabinet, then back to Mordecai. The sleeping bird always made chirping noises whilst asleep, but that didn't mean he couldn't hear Rigby step out of their bedroom. Rigby yawned, and moved one of his hands to rub one of his eyes. He looked over at the alarm clock on Mordecai's nightstand. It read an agonizing **3:30 AM,** meaning he only had about 3 hours before going to work. " _Shit._ " He whispered, and he cursed himself for staying up so late. He always noticed the way Benson and Mordecai looked at him in the morning, wincing at the vain-consumed purple rings around and under his eyes. He knew the stares. He hated them. Everyone in the staff knew Rigby's inner clock was completly destroyed, as he would normal be up at 2:00 AM trying desperately to go back to sleep. It got so bad that Mordecai made him stop drinking Tylenol PM and prevented him from banging his head on various chests and cabinets. He actually knocked himself unconscious once by forcing his head to hit a marble top table, and Mordecai found him the next morning. He almost called the hospital. When he asked why he did it, Rigby snapped and told him it was none of his fucking business. But Mordecai knew, he knew it was because the poor guy just wanted sleep.

Benson got rid of the sleeping medicine, and this threw Rigby into a silent rage. That's when the depression started. _That's when the cutting started._

Luckily, the scars on his skinny arms had faded. Rigby looked at them, the moonlight hitting them and showing them to his tired eyes. He threw himself back onto his back, letting out a quiet "ughhhh." He couldn't get his mind off of the razor blades sitting in the cabinet, clawing at his eyes to make the thoughts stop. He breathed slowly, remembering what made him rest easily before. He yawned once again. He pulled himself up, and set his feet on the smooth wood floor. He quietly stepped towards the cabinet, slowly pulling on the metal handle until it quietly opened. He shifted through his clothes and pulled out a small shaving razor, then covered the other three with the clothes again. He silently closed it, and made his way towards the door of the bedroom. He slowly walked past Mordecai's bed, exiting the room and entering the bathroom right across from it. Rigby sat on the lid of the toilet, practicing some slides on his wrist with the dull side of the blade. Then he hesitantly flipped it over to the sharp side, examing the blade before slowly putting it downwards to the middle of his arm. He slowly inhaled, as his started to slide the blade across his arm. He hissed, and exhaled as the blade made a clear, bloody cut on his skinny arm. From the bedroom, Mordecai stirred awake, as he heard Rigby's painful hissing from the bathroom. He pulled himself upwards and set his feet on the ground, getting up to make sure the small raccoon was alright.

"Rigby? You okay?" He asked quietly, knowing Pops was asleep in the room right across from them. He opened the door to the bathroom, witnessing Rigby looking at him with widened eyes and a clear line of blood gushing down his arm, a bloodstained razorblade in his right hand.

Mordecai's eyes widened, as he slowly let go of the doorknob. _Holy shit . . ._


	2. Chapter 2

_no one would miss me . . ._

Chapter Two.

"Where's the rest?" Mordecai asked as he tightly held the razor in-hand. "I told you, there isn't anymore!" Rigby exclaimed, looking down at the floor. " **Rigby.** " Mordecai said sternly, grabbing Rigby's face and forcing his eyes to meet his. " **Where's the** _ **rest?**_ " Mordecai asked once again, his eyebrows narrowing to make his point clear.

"Ugh!" Rigby thrashed, forcing himself out of Mordecai's grip and landing on the floor. "Their in the goddamn cabinet, okay?! Underneath my clothes!" Rigby growled, and crossed his arms. Mordecai walked to the cabinet and opened the drawer, revealing a mess of clothes. He recklessly shifted through them, pulling the clothes out and throwing them onto the floor. He continued as Rigby watched on, looking at the floor and then back at Mordecai. The blue jay saw a flash of light and a bit of sliver as he pulled away the last shirt, revealing two other razor blades. Mordecai sighed, placing them in his grasp. Then he walked over to his personal trash can and dumped them, having the urge to spit on the dammed things. He looked back to the doorway, only to see that Rigby had run off. Mordecai sighed again, pinching his nose in frustration. He couldn't believed that Rigby was cutting himself. His mind just wouldn't process it. He leaned against the doorway, looking down at the ground. _I could have done something._ He breathed out a sigh after that thought. _Fuck. I really could have done something._ He ran his hand through his hair, his feathers ruffling for a second, before smoothing out. _Better go find him._

He perched himself up straight and headed out the door. . . only to bump into Benson along the way. "You and Rigby should be at work." Benson said, crossing his arms with a clipboard in-hand. "I know, bu-" Mordecai's explanation was cut off by a long sigh from his boss. But, it didn't sound angered, it sounded somber. "Look," He said, looking at the ground. "I know Rigby has been . . . dealing with certain things. Hell, even I suffered through a pretty bad depression once. But, _**this-**_ " He said, running a hand down his face. "This is not a healthy thing for Rigby. Staying up three hours an night, only eating one thing a day, not socializing with anyone, not even **you** , worries me. I want him to work, but at the same time I want him to get some help." Benson sighed once again, pulling up the tab on his clipboard and pulling out a pamphlet. "I think Rigby needs professional help. Before he hurts himself." Benson said, holding out the pamphlet for Mordecai to grab. It was for a mental hospital in their town, right across from the coffee shop. "Just-" Benson shut his mouth for a moment before turning around to face the wall from Mordecai and Rigby's room. "Consider it, okay? When you get ready, head to work. Rigby can have the day off." He went down the hallway until the staircase neared. " **He needs it.** " And then, Benson stepped downstairs. Mordecai went into his room and opened a drawer on his nightstand, shoving the pamphlet into a drawer. He sat down on his bed, looking to Rigby's little trampoline. He noticed how dented it looked, from all those nights of Rigby tossing and turning all those nights. He picked one of Rigby's T-shirts off of the floor. He studied it, loving how it was so small, for someone who was once so happy. He put it up to his nose, sniffing in its aroma. He sighed, taking in the melancholy scent of Rigby. It was just so familiar, so recognizable.

 _ **It smelled like his home.**_ _**His true home.**_

 _ **Authors Note:**_

 _Thank you for so much support on this! I've never gotten any reviews this fast! As requested by many people, here's chapter two!_

 _I've never noticed how strange writing someone sniffing a shirt was. It just feels . . ._ _ **uncomfortable.**_ _But, still I love all the positive and constructive feedback from this story!_

 _Chapter three might take a while to write because I'm really busy at the moment with school and home stuff going on, but I'll try to get it done as soon as possible._


End file.
